In the Valley of Beasts
by fabularumliber
Summary: When an ancient evil awakens in the poisonous lands beyond Hyrule, two things above all are certain: two out of three wielders of the Triforce cannot hope to defeat it themselves, and not even death can separate those bound by destiny. The fate of Hyrule and beyond rests in the hands of the Chosen... if they can quit bickering long enough to cooperate.


Beyond the furthest reaches of man, concealed in an ancient and desolate land where only the dead wander, a shattered circle of stones strains upward toward a bleak and cloudy sky like a handful of the world's tallest knife blades. Words and runes in languages long extinct are carved upon the filthy surfaces. They seem to glow a sullen yellow in the sulfurous light. Nothing has moved here for hundreds of years. This land is far too cursed and poisoned by ancient magics to sustain even a breath of life. Decades ago, brave adventurers would often journey to the dead land in hopes of discovering treasure. Their bones now litter the earth like so much trash.

On the sixth day of the new year, a shiver runs through the circle. For the briefest of seconds, everything regains its stillness. There is no second warning. A tumultuous upheaval begins. In the space of seven minutes, a vast, gaping hole opens in the earth like a yawning mouth, taking half of the obelisks with it. Looking into this pit would be like peering into the deepest, maddest abyss in hell.

Far beneath the barren ground, an ancient being opens its eyes.

The resulting shockwaves kill sixteen people, mostly desert nomads from the lands beyond Hyrule, and devastates entire villages. Ancient Gerudo temples and dwellings from the neighboring desert country are eradicated in a cloud of choking dust. No one in any of Hyrule's provinces feels a thing, except a certain princess asleep in her bed.

She felt the deaths, every single one of them. Each one was like a knife blade to the heart, a sick and bitter twist as the doomed nomads breathed their last beneath suffocating blankets of dirt and dust. With tears streaming down her cheeks, the Princess of Hyrule flailed around in her deep bed. There was a terrible pressure against her chest, and she could _feel_ her ribs cracking, curling around her vulnerable lungs and heart, compressed almost to the point of shattering—

And then there was nothing. She fell out of bed with silk sheets tangled between her legs, her hands pressed over her chest in a futile attempt to protect herself from nothing. No more pain, no more suffocation, though her heart still beat heavily from the shock. A dream, then. No evil monster had come to crush her where she lay.

Nothing was ever _just_ a dream for the Princess Zelda. Ever since childhood, her dreams had held grains of truth, warnings of what was to come . . . or what had already happened. Her father, a deeply practical man, had tended to dismiss his daughter's omens and portents as mere childish imagination. Put down your books, he would tell her. Enough stories! Your time would be better spent learning your lessons and preparing for your future. Despite all of her best attempts to leave the fantasy worlds of her youth behind, the dreams had continued through the years. A prophet's destiny could not be avoided by pretending it did not exist.

Rubbing her mussed golden hair, the woman slowly picked herself up off the floor. The jumbled sheet came free after a few minutes of patient yanking and a well-chosen curse. When she stood up, the solid stone floor felt more like shifting sand beneath her bare feet. Heat lay thickly upon her skin, though the room itself was cool and dim. What time was it? Some gray hour before dawn, she supposed, if the sky beyond her lacy curtains was any indication.

 **Tell me. Do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?**

Sunrise, sunset. What was the difference? They looked the same, two sides of the same coin. Shivering, Zelda tied a robe around her frame. She had experienced enough light and shadows to last a lifetime.

Ah, but never mind. Link would be here by noon. The Princess's Champion had become a very good friend ever since fate, in the forms of a certain metal-masked freak and his monstrous master, had shoved them so crudely together. Between the two of them, they would whip Hyrule back into shape. Oh, but there was so much to do . . .

One small, pale hand stole out and snatched up a tiny, leather bound book from the bedside table. The princess sat in the chair beside her window and began to read. Gray winter light fell upon her, ghostly on her skin. Poetry, a secret weakness. Little by little, as she passed from the real world and into the fantastical one on the pages, the feeling of oppressive heat and gritty desert sand faded.

By all means, for all the sins he had ever committed, his personal afterlife should have been full of fire and pain—a torture chamber where he could burn and suffer for his crimes forever and ever. Surely he deserved a place among the demon-sons of the Goddess Haika, who had almost destroyed the Golden Land her Sisters had built with their own hands. Perhaps a place among the cursed ones, the Twili? Well, they had tried _that_ once, but a good God always finds his Vessel. Even the prison that held the shadow people for centuries could not hold him. All he had needed was a single, dim-witted lackey.

Whatever Ganondorf Dragmire had _expected_ to experience upon his death, this was not part of it. His afterlife was cold, hard, and utterly silent. His limbs felt like lead. He could not move, could barely breathe. He was being crushed. Soon his ribs would pierce him; soon, his head would burst open like a rotten—

It was over. Bemused, he rubbed his face with a callused hand that felt colder than ice. Perhaps it had been some kind of rebirth, some omniscient Mother forcing him out of a stone womb. A little bit of a squeeze? Was that _all_ the Goddesses could do? Psh. Please.

He sat up and scratched the back of his head. So cold! Where on earth was he? Snowpeak? Why would he be there? It held no significance for him, only a kind of bitter irony that a son of the desert would lie forever beneath a blanket of snow and ice. Yet, try as he might, he could see only an endless expanse of stone. Not a single snowflake in sight. How bizarre. When he looked up toward the ceiling, a long sheaf of hair fell into his face. Impatiently, he brushed it out of the way. Smooth stone floors, deep shadowy corners, and patterns of colored light falling through space and tinting his skin purple. He looked up. Tall, ghostly stained glass windows ringed the chamber. Now. Why did those windows look familiar?

The very air in the space was thick with haunting, tingling vitality; magic too ancient and vital for even Ganondorf to fully comprehend. If he wanted, perhaps, he could linger here forever and try to unlock the secrets of the whispering voices caressing his ears . . . but that would mean staying here, and that simply would not do. If he was to live another life, he would not waste a moment of his time—

Time. Temple of Time. Gods, how could he be so stupid? With an inner groan, he stood up. For a moment, the world doubled before his eyes, and then settled. Walking on legs that felt like stilts, he stumbled out of the chamber and into the temple proper.

The Temple of Time was exactly as Ganondorf remembered it—a massive expanse of silent stone emptiness, with two statues to guard the sacred chamber that doubled as the entrance to the proving grounds. The whole room seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for him to leave so it could exist in peace once more. Instead of running to the door, he walked sedately. No phantoms whispering in the shadowy places would frighten him into running. He refused to leave like a frightened prisoner. No, he would leave like a king, like the master of his domain.

Or . . . he wouldn't leave at all, because the doors were locked.

Too bemused to be vexed, Ganondorf tried pulling a little harder on the elegant handles. The doors did not budge. Even an unlocking spell, spoken in a long-dead language that made the temple shiver, did not permit him to pass beyond the barrier. Well. Damn. That didn't work. An oath passed through his lips. Why was he awake if he could not leave? Was this some sort of sick joke? Was he to wander around this tomb for eternity, staring at the statues and the hideous glass windows until he went insane? Gods, who had chosen those windows anyway? Such poor taste!

Keep it together, Ganondorf, keep it together.

Obviously, there was a reason for him to be here. If that reason was not revealed now, it surely would be in the future. All that was left for him to do was wait. Fate always had a reason for everything, even the most annoying of inconveniences. So, with a small hum, he took a seat on the stairs and leaned against the rail. Now, to criticize every inch of this temple.

There was something wrong. Link of Ordon knew that the moment he stepped into Princess Zelda's study. It was something about the way she stood, in the set of her jaw and the shadows beneath her eyes. Her dress and jewelry were as tidy as ever, but her _eyes_ —

"Link?"

He snapped to attention, clearing his throat. "Uh? Sorry. I was distracted."

She regarded him with a small smile that brightened her delicate, troubled features. "It's all right. I know I do not look my best . . ."

He spluttered out a reply, something about how she looked as beautiful as ever, and Zelda laughed. The sound echoed warmly in the high, cavernous space. Link was not fond of the office: it was far too cold and impersonal for his liking, much like the rest of the castle. Zelda's presence was like sunshine, brightening the darkest corners of the room. Zelda was so different from the nobility. She had humility, and kindness, and compassion . . . which was probably why her subjects adored her.

As quick as her mirth had come, it abruptly dissolved, leaving Zelda looking wan again. Dread crept into Link's heart; the smile slid from his lips. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

A frown twisted her lips. "I had a dream."

"I see." He took a seat, leaning back in the upholstered chair. Generations of far more polished behinds had sat in this seat, and here he was, dirtying it with trail dust and grass. Zelda did not mind.

Quickly, the Princess summarized her early-morning visions. The mention of a primordial, malevolent entity awakening caused Link's eyes to widen in surprise. "Do you mean Ganondorf?" he asked when she fell silent.

"No. It was a monster . . . evil and cunning . . . violent . . . and old beyond measure." How she knew this, Zelda was unsure.

"Old and evil could still be Ganondorf," Link mused.

Zelda shook her head. "No. I mean, yes, Ganondorf is old and evil, but this was not Ganondorf. We sealed his corpse in the Temple of Time and locked his weapon away in the dungeon."

"Hmm." He fell silent a moment, looking down at the dirt on his boots. He had tracked it through the castle, of course, never thinking for a moment about the filth he inflicted upon the civilized folk. At last, he looked up, bright eyes thoughtful. "Should I check on his body?"

He expected her to scoff. To tell him that Ganondorf was dead and never returning, and to not be so silly. Some small part of him prayed for her to smile in that kind but slightly exasperated way of hers and remind him that they had seen him die, that Link himself had been the old warlord's executioner. No one could expect to take a blow from the Master Sword and expect to live, after all.

Zelda surprised him by taking the comment seriously. Her head tilted; she reached up and rubbed her pointed chin, apparently deep in thought. "Yes. I think you should check on him."

"You can't be serious. Ganondorf is _dead_. I killed him." How could she suggest that, when the afterimage of the man's dying scream was still painted behind Link's eyes? "The Triforce even abandoned him at the moment of his death."

Over the last year, the pair had learned much about the mysterious relic that connected them, spoken of in legends all seeming to revolve around a mysterious boy in green garb. They had come to acknowledge its cyclic nature. Everything came around time and time again, like the seasons or the centuries. Surely it was folly to believe Ganondorf could so easily drop out of the circle of destiny, but Link _wanted_ to believe it, damn it. He _wanted_ to believe he would never again have a close brush with the monster. He had so narrowly escaped death the first time! Another battle might actually kill him, or worse, cut out his soul and leave him to wander the fields as an unhappy spirit forever, unfulfilled and restless.

Now Zelda _did_ flash that smile at him, and Link felt his heart fold in on itself. "Do it for me?" she asked him quietly, offering her hands across the desk. The Triforce sparkled on her hand, and his glowed in harmonious reply. How could he ever think they were anything but bound? "Please, Link. I think . . . I think this is important."

Though Link wanted so desperately to say no, the haunted look in her eyes that spoke to far more than loss of sleep thwarted his every attempt to protest. He gave in, taking both her hands and nodding. "I will, Your Majesty."

"Stop that," she ordered. Oh, thank the Gods, a little liveliness. "I hate that."

He chuckled as he bent over her hands to gently kiss them. "As you wish."

The princess was satisfied, and thus ended the conversation.


End file.
